That Time He Knew
by lydtograce
Summary: Inspired by Magnus, Raphael begins to compliment Simon in Spanish, so that he cannot be rejected. Also known as, three times Raphael thought he was really clever, and one time he knew he was screwed.
The first time he thought he was clever -

He'd gotten the idea from Bane - of all people. He'd actually gleaned something intelligent from that annoyingly sparkly warlock. But then again, Raphael supposed that Bane had been around for a long time. He'd probably learned a lot. And Raphael guessed that he should be glad that he has Bane as a friend. After all, who else would allow Raph to mercilessly tease them, yet still give him help when it came to his unrequited affection for the obnoxious fledgling boy?

Bane, Raphael had found, was good at the latter - helping him with his unrequited affection for the fledgling. (Perhaps it was the pure amount of relationships that the idiota seemed to have had. They turned him into a love expert. Or perhaps the pure fact that Magnus had had so many relationships warned Raphael not to take his advice? Whatever.)

He couldn't be that bad at preserving relationships. After all, the Lightwood boy seemed completely enamored by the idiot, and - not to forget that he'd supplied Raphael with a perfect idea; to compliment the obnoxiously beautiful fledgling in Spanish. It was perfect, no? Easily the most intelligent thing to ever pass the sparkly warlock's lips.

The first time he'd said it, his tone had been teasing, almost as if he were annoyed at the fledgling. And, if you didn't speak the language he conversed in, you'd think he was incredibly exasperated by the fledgling. He'd spoken it after Simon had dropped a glass on the ground, of which had shattered. The shards had flown everywhere. "¿Tienes alguna maldita idea de lo hermoso que eres?"" Simon's expression had faltered for a moment, and Raphael had felt his heart lurch - what if the idiota could understand him?

And then the fledgling returned to frowning, and Raphael calmed himself. Obviously, Simon did not understand. He was just being paranoid.

The second time he thought he was clever -

The next time he'd 'insulted' the fledgling, would be after he returned from the New York Institute. Raphael would never understand why he chased after the Nephilim like a yippy dog, nipping at their heels - why he bent to their every beck and call. But then again, Raphael didn't understand a lot of things about Simon Lewis.

He'd stomped in, as he usually did, without a care in the world - despite the fact that his shoes were treading mud across the Hotel carpets. Raphael suppressed a sigh, eyes flicked upwards from the book he was pretending to be invested in.

"You're getting mud everywhere." Raphael spoke bluntly, tone uninterested, and - as his eyes fell back upon the page before him - he could hear Simon snort. "Well, if you haven't noticed, I'm practically covered in mud. So it's not really my fault." Raphael didn't even need to look up to know that the fledgling was glaring at him.

Fingers moving, to turn the page, Raphael spoke for a second time - tone kept uninterested (or so he hoped. He didn't want the fledgling to think him too eager), "Igual te ves hermoso."

And, as Simon gasped - offended - Raphael smirked. A beam that remained, even as Simon stomped his way out of the room - mud splattered everywhere.

The third time he thought he was clever -

In all honestly, if Raphael was Simon, he would've told Raphael to knock it off. Then, he would've demanded a translation for all the Spanish Raphael had spoken the past week or so. But then again, Raphael was not Simon - and he would never understand Simon Lewis. Never.

The third - and final, Raphael promised, he felt bad about it - time Raphael had 'insulted' the fledgling, had been when he'd walked in on the male staring at himself in the mirror.

And Raphael meant staring. He'd never seen anyone so fixated on their reflection before. But then again, when one was as attractive as Simon Lewis, Raphael supposed they would stare at themselves in the mirror a lot.

"Dios, Lewis? What on earth are you doing?" Raphael was sure he would recieve an idiot response - and, as soon the fledgling spoke a word, Raphael wanted to slap him.

"I didn't think vampire's could see their reflections. I suppose vampire films had lied to me." The boy laughed, and Raphael was surprised his own eyes did not roll out of his head. "Tienes suerte de que eres atractivo, Lewis." His head was shaken, and then Raphael turned. He would never understand Simon Lewis, for as long as he lived. And as an immortal, that would be a long time.

The time he knew he was screwed -

Raphael knew something negative was about to happen. After all, he was far too lucky - able to confess his feelings for Lewis, without fear of rejection. That luck couldn't last. Yet, he didn't think that his luck running out would come in form of a tan fourteen year old girl.

She'd simply turned up at the Hotel one night, discovered at the door by Lily. And it didn't take long for her to be identified as a vampire, nor did it take any longer for the vampires of the New York clan to realize that the girl did not speak any English. What did take them a while, however, was the realization that the words the girl was yelling in rapid succession could be named as Spanish.

And that is when they went to fetch Raphael. He was in his room (his 'boss vampire chambers', as Lewis liked to call them), when Lily forced open the door, and beckoned for him. After reprimanding her (after all, he could've been doing anything in that room), he did head down the stairs, to where they were keeping this little Spanish girl.

And Lewis was with her.

And they were talking.

In Spanish.

And not that crappy, jagged, Spanish either. Fluent Spanish. It was evident in the way he spoke that Lewis had been a Spanish speaker for a long while. And Raphael didn't realize he was holding his breath (not that he needed to breathe, though. He was dead, after all.)

Simon's head had craned, and Raphael gulped. That smile was malevolent. "You know, Raphael. I do know how beautiful I am, I'm glad I look pretty when covered in mud, and I am lucky I'm attractive. Personally speaking, Queria que me dijeras en Ingles... Pero..." His shoulder's rolled, and smiled again, "You look pretty when you're shocked, Raph. Not that you don't look pretty most of the time, that is."

And then he turned, and continued his conversation with the girl.

Raphael found they were talking about cats.


End file.
